


Driver's Ed for Billionaires

by fire_sprite



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Driver's Ed, Driving, Gen, Hulk Is Surprisingly Patient, Iron dad and Spider son, The Only Canon You Need to Accept for This Is That All Asgardians Have Incredible Calves, talking about cars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-07 06:55:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16849270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fire_sprite/pseuds/fire_sprite
Summary: When Peter asks Tony to hang out in Queens for Fathers’ Day, Tony is ecstatic. However, Peter wants it to just be the two of them, which means Happy won’t be able to chauffeur them around. The problem with that?Tony's never learned how to drive.





	1. The Reason There's No Spider-Mobile

It was the last few minutes of Peter and Tony’s so-called “invention time,” which seventy percent of the time was talking about things they _wanted_ invented (Tony wanted a doorbell for aliens whenever they next visited Earth, Peter wanted a churro vending machine) and thirty percent of the time _actually_ inventing things. Peter, currently, was chattering away on the rare occasion that they _were_ inventing.

“So, I thought we could revamp the web shooters next time, because we just did the web fluid last week, but it was sticking in my old ones, and I couldn’t figure out why,” Peter said excitedly, “I think it has to do with either the oil or the design, and I drew out some sketches for new ones, but I couldn’t make a solid model, do you want to―?” Peter thrust sheets of graph paper at a startled Tony, who took and examined them.

“Kid, these are… amazing,” he said slowly. Peter looked ecstatic. “I’m serious, did you plagiarize these or something? You sure there’s not a ‘How to Make Your Own Web-shooters’ tutorial up on the Internet?”

“No!” Peter protested, although unknown to Tony, he _had_ found some cosplay tutorials on YouTube, and so what if he took inspiration? “Anyway, do you think I could come in to make them next week?”

“Absolutely,” Tony said, still engrossed in the designs. “Hey, you mind if I keep these?”

“Oh, yeah, tota―”

At that moment, FRIDAY’s alarm rang, and both Tony and Peter jumped.

“Boss, you want me to extend the alarm?”

“No, it’s fine, FRIDAY,” Tony replied, swiping the alarm screen, “seems like all the time we have for today, Pete. Don’t get into too much trouble, all right, kid?”

“I won’t,” grumbled Peter, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. He headed for the door, and Tony turned back to the papers, already thinking of materials he could order. He pulled up a catalog and began flipping through, looking for something Peter wouldn’t call too flashy (which really meant nothing he would put on _his_ suit).

“Hey, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked in a small voice, pausing by the door.

Tony looked up from the sketches. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“I, uh―would you want to maybe…” the rest of Peter’s sentence was unintelligible.

“Pardon?” Tony asked blankly.

“Would you want to maybe, um, uh, go into the city for, uh, Father’s Day?” This time the sentence was discernible, although the end of the it was still very quiet.

Two things ran through Tony’s head at once. One, he had around ten meetings on Father’s Day, and he was absolutely willing to call off all of them to hang out with Peter, and not just because he wanted to talk shop about web shooters, anyway.

Two, this was probably the best thing he’d ever been asked, and Tony’s mind flashed to Benjamin Parker, wondering if he was supposed to live up to his legacy.

Tony suddenly realized he’d been thinking this over for far too long, and Peter was watching him anxiously.

“Oh, psh, yeah, no problem, kid,” Tony said, waving a hand. “Where should Happy pick you up?”

“Actually, could we do it without Happy? May said we could use her car, and he kind of scares me,” Peter admitted. “Also, I don’t think he likes me.”

“Happy loves you, what are you talking about?”

“He doesn’t respond to any of my texts. I don’t know if he even reads them,” Peter said uncomfortably.

“Of course he reads…” Tony trailed off. When was the last time _Tony_ had even gotten a response from Happy? “Okay. I’ll, uh, talk to him about that. Anyway, what, you just want us to, to go gallivanting around the city for Father’s Day?”

“Well, there’s a parade going on, and I think the Hot Dog Bus is going around…”

“The Hot Dog Bus?” Tony tried to withhold a snort.

“I mean, I could probably try to find something else if you don’t want―”

“No, no, kid, it’s fine, it’s great,” Tony reassured him, thinking of the incredible press the Hot Dog Bus would be getting. Peter looked heartened. “And still―” he held up Peter’s papers, “ _Brilliant_ work. Genius. You might even be getting an actual _job_ at Stark Industries sooner or later.”

“ _Really?_ I mean, um, oh yeah, of course,” Peter beamed, “thanks, Mr. Stark, but Happy’s waiting for me outside, and I gotta go, bye!” In a flash of jackets and backpack, Peter swung out the doors and down the stairs.

Tony paused, making sure Peter was gone, then spoke. “FRIDAY, can you call Bruce down here?”

 

“Hey, Tones, what’s going on?” Bruce walked in, his hair scruffy and distinctly smelling of coffee. “Everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah, everything’s fine,” Tony said, already regretting bringing him down, “uh, it’s nothing, actually, you might just want to go back to―”

“I was listening to another ‘back in my day’ rant from Steve, believe me, I’m happy for a chance to escape.” Bruce chuckled.

Tony sighed. Steve’s rants _were_ long. “All right, but you can’t tell _anyone._ I’m serious. This is bigger than me being Iron Man.”

Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed. “Okay… uh, seriously, you sure you’re―”

“I can’t drive.” Tony blurted out.

Bruce blinked. “You can’t _what?_ ”

“I can’t―I can’t drive,” Tony said, annoyed he was repeating it.

“That doesn't make sense, what about that time you drove me in that NSX?”

“That was a self-driving car,” Tony started pacing back and forth, “I had my hands on the wheel, but AIDEN was doing all the work.”

“AIDEN?”

“Artificial Intelligence Driving for Electric Networks, I had to go on _Thesaurus.com_ to get it down.”

“But―”

“Bruce,” Tony stopped and looked him dead in the eye, clapping him on the shoulders. “If you forced me into a car, in just a regular Joe-down-the-block minivan, I wouldn’t be able to drive it.”

Bruce tried, and failed, to muffle a giggle.

“Hey!” Tony glared as Bruce’s giggles grew into laughter. “I’m a genius, it doesn’t mean I won’t _ever_ ―it never came _up_ ―”

“Sorry, Tony,” snickered Bruce, not looking sorry at all, “it’s just―that was so unexpected. I thought you and Pepper were getting married or something, but _not being able to drive…_ ” Bruce fell back into laughter, and Tony waited, tapping his foot, as Bruce slowly recovered, wiping his eyes. “God, we _have_ to tell this to the team.”

“No, we don’t!”

“The team needs to know your fatal flaw, Tony,” Bruce grinned. “Come on. You know them. They won’t tell the press.”

 

To be fair, the team didn’t tell the press. They just really wanted to.

 

“Tony,” Steve said, after disguising laughter as a coughing fit, “Tony, you _make cars._ ”

“I know,” Tony whined, “but I never _drove_ them.”

“Who the hell was driving them, then?” Clint questioned, grinning. He was perched on the sofa, where the rest of the team was reclining, and had abandoned examining his arrows in favor of laughing at Tony.

“DUM-E,” said Tony miserably, which only prompted more laughter. “That’s why they’re foolproof.”

“You humans and your _cars_ ,” Thor shook his head, tossing Mjolnir in one hand. “In my day, if you didn’t have a magical hammer, you either used the Bifrost or walked,” he paused, then added, “Good cardio.”

It _would_ explain why all Asgardians had such incredible calves, but Tony wasn’t interested. “I’m not walking through all of New York, Thor,” he said stubbornly.

“Why can’t Peter drive, anyway?” Natasha said, leaning forward. “Hasn’t he practiced driving with May?”

“The last time Peter drove a car, he wrecked his classmate’s _brand new Audi Roadster_. You know who had to pay for that?” Tony pointed at himself, in case anyone was confused.

“Whoa, _who_ had the Audi?” Clint looked impressed.

“Flash Thompson’s dad. He’s a douchebag, so is his son,” Natasha said sharply, to the shock of everyone. She looked casually around, but it was clear she rather enjoyed the surprise. “I keep up with Peter too.”

“Tony, why do _you_ care about paying for a car? You're a billionaire,” Steve said bemusedly.

“It's not good for kids to think you're always going to take care of everything. They need to take responsibility, too,” Clint said wisely, saving Tony from explaining that he hated insurance paperwork.

“Profound, Clint,” Tony remarked dryly, before turning to Steve. “Anyway, you laughed at me the least. Can _you_ teach me?”

“Sorry, Tony,” Steve shrugged helplessly, “but I've only ever driven cars from the forties. I wouldn't know where to start.”

“Romanov?” Tony asked desperately.

“No,” Natasha smiled, enjoying the look on his face.

“What about Pepper?” Bruce interjected before Tony could beg any further.

“Taking care of the meetings on Fathers’ Day,” Tony sighed. “ _Every_ time she drives, she sends me videos of her in the car.”

The team didn't know how quite to respond to this, other than abject pity--and also hysteria.

“I'll help,” Bruce and Clint volunteered at the same time. They looked at each other.

“I know you wanted Natasha to teach you some ‘cool moves,’” Bruce shared a glance with her, “but maybe it's best for you to learn how to actually drive beforehand?”

Tony looked embarrassed at being called out so quickly, but recovered.

“All right. Let's show those New York streets who's a billionaire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Tony have to fill out even MORE insurance paperwork?  
> Don't forget to hit that kudos and leave a comment! Have any questions? I'll answer 'em!


	2. Clint Barton, Soccer Mom

“There’s not an abundance of online driving programs for adults, I’ll tell you that,” Bruce said, looking up from the computer.

“Great,” Tony muttered. “Clint, any luck?”

Clint was browsing on his phone. “It’s a no-go here, too. All the programs take around a couple months to complete.”

“Well, I don’t have two months, I have less than a week to drive Pete around,” Tony snapped.

“I mean, how much is your pride worth to you? Maybe you should just hire a private teacher. Anyone would _kill_ for a chance to teach Tony Stark something,” Bruce paused. “Who else knows besides the team and Pepper?”

“No one,” Tony answered immediately, then backtracked. “Well, maybe Happy.”

Clint groaned and stretched. “This is getting nowhere. We should just teach him ourselves. Save him the embarrassment.”

Bruce blinked. “Why did I not think of that?”

Clint shrugged and stuffed his phone back into his pocket, bounding over to Bruce’s computer. “Here. Download… that one,” he pointed to the third item on the screen.

The marked price was a hundred dollars, so Bruce decided otherwise. “I’m gonna take a pass and pirate it.”

“What? I can _pay_ for that,” Tony swung by the computer. “What are you doing?”

“Tony, it’s one hundred dollars,” Bruce said reproachfully.

“I’m a _billionaire._ ”

Bruce sighed, shared a look with Clint, and let Tony put in his credit information, then opened up the program.

 

Tony walked briskly into the car operating room, his pride and joy. Clint was ruffling through printouts of the driving program and frowning, while Bruce was eyeing the Stark cars, trying to figure out which would be the best fit for a new driver.

“This keeps on assuming you’re sixteen,” Clint remarked, “and it says you have to take a bunch of notes before even getting into the car. So that’s useless.”

Clint threw the notes behind him and Bruce rolled his eyes. “It _could_ be useful, you never know. Even us old-timers,” he added.

“I’m a model driver,” Clint argued, but _did_ go back to pick them up.

“Tony, what’s your easiest car to drive?” Bruce asked, switching his attention back.

“None of my cars are easy, they’re very classy,” Tony retorted before walking over to a sleek red model.

“Did you… have to paint flames on the side?”

“Absolutely,” Tony said, getting into the driver’s seat. “Now let’s roll.”

Bruce looked at Clint, in a _what-is-he-planning_ type of look, but Clint just grinned and shook his head, in a _just-let-him-do-his-thing_ look. This didn’t yield anything useful, so Bruce nervously got into the backseat, while Clint climbed into the shotgun.

Tony confidently turned the key in the ignition and casually watched the windshield and window nanotech build itself up. He put the car into drive through AIDEN’s system of commands, and, to Bruce’s surprise, turned the wheel without hesitation, making this one of the smoothest starts in Bruce’s entire life.

Clint, however, seemed to be withholding laughter as the car drove lazily around the operating room.

“You wanna share something with the class, Barton? I’m a _natural,_ ” Tony smirked.

At this, Clint burst into laughter. “Tony, the car is in _automatic driving,_ ” he cackled. “ _Billionaires._ ”

Bruce muffled a snort.

“AIDEN, stop the car,” Tony said in a very small voice.

The car pulled to a stop perfectly. Tony took the key from the car without looking at Clint, who was still giggling. “Got any other bright ideas?”

“Yeah, we’re using my car.” Clint challenged.

 

“This is a soccer mom car,” complained Tony, who was grudgingly sitting in the shotgun.

“It is not,” Clint glared from the driver’s seat.

“It’s a _2009 Traverse._ I can’t believe one of my team drives this,” Tony covered his face in his hands.

“Tony, if you keep complaining about my car, I will throw you out of it,” Clint said serenely, pushing the key into the ignition, but not turning it. Tony immediately looked around as if searching for the best place to land.

“Now what do we do before turning the car on?” Bruce leaned towards the front from his perpetual back seating.

“Uh, look both ways?”

“Nope. Adjust your mirrors,” Clint said cheerily, and moved the rearview mirror so slightly it barely constituted a movement. “If it’s dark, turn on your headlights, and _then_ look around to make sure you won’t hit anything. We can save the reversing for later.

“Then, put your hands at ten and two―”

“Wait, don’t do that!” Bruce cut in, perhaps a little more dramatically than was needed. “You’ll actually want to go for nine and three, it’s been proven to be safer in the case of dashboard injuries, and your hands won’t fly back into your face if you―”

“Hey, big guy, wanna summarize?” Clint interrupted.

“Don’t put your hands at ten and two, put your hands at nine and three instead,” Bruce rushed. Clint looked a little hurt, but moved his hands accordingly.

“All _right,_ now, do you know which pedal is the gas and which is the brake?”

“Right is the gas, left is the brake,” Tony recited. “I’m not _that_ ignorant, Tweetie.”

Clint grinned at the nickname. “I’ll stop grillin’ ya and start up, then.”

Clint turned the key in the ignition, put the car into drive, and drove off, doing slow laps around the car operating room on the track. As he demonstrated basic turns for Tony, who was listening intently, Bruce noticed the care with which he treated the car.

Bruce had expected Clint’s personality to transfer to his driving, but Clint drove safer than Bruce ever had, even on his own driving test. He wondered how Clint had managed it―perhaps it was something that came with being Natasha’s partner, or he took extra care with all cars that weren’t tanks?

Bruce’s eyes drifted over to a photo clipped to the visor, the only personal affection in the entire car. Bruce, peering at it, realized it was a photo of Clint’s family. How many times had this car carried his family? How many times had Clint driven cautiously to make sure his family would be safe?

“... And if you want to turn right, you’ll drive the turn signal up,” Clint was saying, demonstrating the signal. “Normally, once you make the turn,” Clint turned the wheel and executed a right turn around DUM-E, who chirped loud enough to be heard through the car, “the signal will turn off by itself. But sometimes it stays on, and that’s when you have to remember to turn it off.

“ _This_ car,” Clint said proudly, “automatically turns off its signals.”

“Phenomenal,” Tony deadpanned. “The technology of our generation.” He muttered something about Stark technology under his breath, but Bruce didn’t catch it.

Clint, Bruce knew, had refused Tony’s offer of a new car when the Avengers were first formed. (So had Bruce, although he was more concerned about attracting extra attention, especially because of the unpopularity of the Hulk with the press.) Clint was most likely _well_ aware that his car had minimal value, and that the Stark cars Tony could easily give him were more reliable, better-looking, and were overall bound to earn him more respect from the general public.

“Hey, Clint, why didn’t you want a Stark car? I thought Tony offered you one,” Bruce asked, piquing Tony’s interest.

Clint made a noncommittal noise, then seemed to rethink his answer as he made eye contact with Bruce in the rearview mirror. “I don’t want the kids to… see, I don’t―they don’t know what I do. If I got one of Tony’s cars, they might start asking questions.”

“Do… any of your kids know what you do?” Bruce trode carefully.

“No,” Clint said simply. “And I'm keeping it that way for as long as I can.”

They were silent for a while until Clint exhaled and pulled the car to a stop.

“God, how we even got into this conversation… all because of your stupid cars,” he cracked a smile at Tony.

Tony looked deeply offended. “Lay off, Tweetie. I'm sending your car to the dump once I can get my hands on it.”

“Well, you know what, we can stop teaching you right now,” Bruce cut in, trying to lighten the mood and save Clint his honor, and possibly his car as well. Clint brightened and looked grateful for the distraction.

“That’s true! Young man,” he said, putting on his frilliest voice, “I will turn this car around―”

“It’s not even _on!_ ” Tony cried, and the rest of the lesson was concluded with much laughter.

They hopped out of the car and stood around, trying to find where on _Earth_ they’d misplaced the driver’s education papers, until Bruce finally found them, curiously enough, right by DUM-E, who seemed to be reading them. He wondered if DUM-E was trying to learn how to drive as well, but was snapped out of it when Clint called for a group huddle.

“You’re aware this isn’t a football game, right, Clint?” Tony raised an eyebrow at him.

“You know what? I was going to say ‘you did a great job, everyone’―” Clint’s voice pitched higher with the quote, “but just for that remark, Tony, I’m having you write a five page paper on the _art_ of the turn signal.”

“Wha―?” Tony’s protests were lost among Clint and Bruce’s laughter.

“That’s right,” Clint wheezed, “it’ll impart some responsibility into ya, punk,” he poked into Tony’s chest.

“How long did it take you to come out with that one?” Tony muttered, then shook his head. “ _Anyway,_ just for _that_ remark, I _will_ write your stupid paper!”

Tony turned and walked out of the car operating room, calling “I’ll show you all!” behind him. Clint sighed and clapped Bruce on the back.

“Feels good to be a teacher, doesn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Clint feels in here, which I didn't even plan! Next chapters will be even less serious!  
> Don't forget to hit that kudos and leave a comment! Have any questions about the fic? I'll answer 'em!


	3. A Dedicated Student

The next day, Tony smugly turned in a six-page-paper on turn signals, handed it to Bruce, and declared himself “a more dedicated student than any person on the planet, except for Bruce, because he has seven PhD’s and none of us could ever measure up to him.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” said Bruce absentmindedly, paging through the papers. “Hey, Tones, one question?”

“Mm?”

“Why does your paper say ‘Thank you for supporting Bid4Papers.com?’” Bruce held up the paper and stared Tony down, trying not to laugh.

“Come on, Tony, you can’t do better than my kids in middle school?” Clint raised his eyebrows.

“How much did you bid for this, Tony?” Bruce asked interestedly.

“Five...” Tony sighed.

“...Dollars?” asked Bruce cautiously. This seemed like more of a ten-dollar paper to him. Not that he’d sold his college papers, obviously.

“Thousand.”

“ _What?_ ” Clint screeched. Tony threw up his hands.

“I had to outbid _richboi69!_ ”

“Richboi69 isn’t worth this!” Bruce smacked his forehead.

“I gotta tweet this,” Clint said, getting out his phone, but Tony grabbed it and held it out of arm’s reach as Clint desperately tried to grab at it. Both knew that Clint could probably grab it without a doubt, but it was funnier seeing them try. Clint, however, evidently decided that trying was helpless, and so he tackled Tony, successfully got his phone back, and then somersaulted back into place like none of it had ever happened.

“All right,” he said smoothly, though panting a little, “let’s begin. FRIDAY, could you pull up _Clint’s Super Awesome Driving Presentation for Tony?_ ”

“Sure thing, Tweetie,” FRIDAY replied, seamlessly pulling up a screen behind Clint. Clint looked at Tony.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” FRIDAY said, in place of Tony.

 

The day was mostly taken up by notes, and Bruce noticed more and more that Clint advocated for even more safer driving than Bruce, and _Bruce_ was the one trying to avoid media coverage. Or perhaps Clint was avoiding coverage too―in fact, Bruce hadn’t seen _any_ press containing Clint’s real name lately.

Tony, on the other hand, didn’t seem to understand that he couldn’t just pay off any police officer in New York. There were certain places you can park as a civilian, and certain places you would park when you were one of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, and Tony evidently, liked to blur the lines. Or maybe Tony was purposely just trying to get on he and Clint’s nerves. Bruce had known Tony for quite a few years now, and sometimes he still wasn’t quite sure. Even FRIDAY had to interject to inform Tony about bribery laws.

Tony, Bruce knew, was smart. Tony _knew_ that most people, the other ninety-nine percent, had considerably less money than him. Tony, by proxy, knew that _he_ had incredible masses of wealth, so much so that he could probably quit inventing right this second and be set for a thousand years. But he didn’t quite understand the privilege that he’d grown up with, something that Bruce, for example, saw lack of in Kolkata. Tony had been treated like a prince all his life by the world, so, of course, why should he understand it?

“… but I’m _Tony Stark!_ ” Tony was protesting for the third time.

“All right, we’re switching roles, you be the officer this time, and I’ll show you how you should act when you get a ticket,” Clint groaned.

“Mr. Stark, hate to say it, but you’re gonna have to get a ticket,” Tony said, completely deadpan.

“But I’m Tony Stark!” Clint squawked in an awful impression. Even Tony looked affronted, but recovered enough to shoot back a response.

“Oh, sorry, sir, I’ll take a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill for your trouble,” Tony was still staying deadpan, but the side of his mouth crooked up a bit with the smile he was trying to hide.

“Clint, maybe you should try pretending you’re _Bruce Banner,_ ” Bruce folded his arms and glared at Tony. “I can at _least_ obey the law without paying them off.”

“But I’m Bruce Banner!” Clint yammered in the same tone.

Tony switched back to his monotone officer voice without hesitation. “Oh, sorry, sir, nothing is law for the smartest man in the world.”

Bruce looked down to hide his flattered smile as Tony broke into laughter.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Clint cried. Bruce laughed out loud; the last thing he would expect Clint to say was _that._

“Shut up, _dad,_ ” Tony mocked back. Clint looked as if he’d take that as a challenge, and proceeded to make dad jokes all the rest of the lesson.

 

As a congratulatory event, Bruce and Clint took Tony out for drinks, but were unfortunately quickly swamped with admirers and one very enthusiastic cosplayer, so they retired back at Avengers Tower, where the others joined them to swap stories about _their_ first driving experiences.

“My first car was a tank,” Natasha’s eyes were misty in remembrance. “I was thirteen. I was so excited.”

“Gotta say, if you put me in a tank at thirteen, I’d’ve lost control in two seconds,” Clint laughed, leaning his head back on his arms. “Barney ended up teaching me, ‘cause I kept crashing the family car.”

“Barney?” Bruce asked curiously.

“Yeah, my brother,” Clint smiled softly, then switched his focus to Natasha. “Nat, you said you had a _tank?_ ”

“Yeah, for chasing down the likes of you,” she grinned, punching his shoulder.

Steve grinned. “Mom and Bucky had a hell of a time trying to teach me to drive.”

“So you _weren’t_ perfect?” Tony inquired, looking shocked.

“Are you kidding? I was a menace on the road!” Steve jumped up, regaling them. “I went through stop signs, kept rear-ending cars, got road rage… wait, are you going to tell anyone this?” he suddenly said, concerned.

“Too late, Clint’s already tweeted it,” Natasha smirked.

“You have a hundred retweets,” Clint said, evidently trying to make up for the horrified look on Steve, who sat back down next to Bruce.

“What’s a retweet?” he asked Bruce, very quietly. Bruce shook his head.

“Nothing bad. Or maybe it is, since… you know, it _is_ Twitter.”

Steve looked at him blankly, and Bruce backtracked.

“It’s fine,” he reassured. “Just expect a little more press than usual.”

“Bruce, what about you?” Tony asked, interested.

“My driving experience was fairly uneventful,” Bruce shrugged. “I did get my license late, though. Twenty-one. I was always using campus transportation until I decided I’d better take a class. Luckily, Harvard got me a tutor,” he laughed lightly.

“Of _course_ Harvard got you a personal tutor,” Tony scoffed. “What else did they give you, an engagement ring and a grant after your namesake?”

“Actually, yes,” Bruce said mildly, then realized Tony’s surprise. “I mean, not the engagement ring,” he said hastily, “but there was a Bruce Banner grant for a while, yeah.”

“What happened to it?” Natasha leaned forward.

“They, uh, took it down after Sokovia,” Bruce looked down, slightly embarrassed. “I don’t blame them, honestly.”

“Hmm. I’ll write them about it later,” Tony said, unbothered. “FRIDAY, put it on my to-do list.”

“Bruce Banner’s grant is now the eighty-fourth thing on your to-do list, Boss. You sure you don’t want to clear some things out?” FRIDAY asked.

“What’s the oldest thing on the list?”

“From 2006. ‘Romance Pepper Potts.’”

“Oh,” Tony’s face reddened. “Um, you can, can scratch that one off the list.”

“Will do.”

Tony cleared his throat and faced the Avengers again. “Uh, anyway.”

“Aww,” Natasha cooed, “you had a _crush._ ”

“ _Anyway,_ ” Tony said, louder, “what were we talking about again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What else is on that to-do list?  
> Comments and kudos keep the chapters comin'! Feel free to ask any questions about the fic!


	4. Distracted Driving

The next two days, Tony and Bruce switched off driving in an abandoned parking lot that they’d managed to rent from an elderly man named Mr. Lee. The lot, unfortunately, was barely paved and littered with shallow holes left and right, making Bruce wonder what _exactly_ had been going on in the lot before its rental. Drag racing, perhaps?

Anyway, frankly, Bruce was convinced Tony would have to pay for repairs to the car just by _driving_ the damn thing. Even Clint looked concerned when they were shown the lot, looking back and forth between the shards of shrapnel on the ground and the Traverse’s tires. But at this point, it was the best thing they had, next to renting out a few city blocks, and nobody would be prepared for the power trip that would give Tony.

It was Tony’s first time in a car, and neither Bruce nor Clint expected Tony’s driving to be fraught with anxiety the way it was. He drove at the slowest speed possible and complained it was too fast, the car never getting above ten miles an hour the entire time he cruised around the lot.

“I’m telling you, Tweetie, I didn’t realize how fast cars go,” Tony said, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“Okay, _old man_ ,” Clint rolled his eyes.

“Hey, don’t make me call you dad again,” Tony warned, making the slowest turn in the history of turns.

“Do you want your arthritis medicine?”

Tony responded by hitting the gas, in what he probably thought was a scare for the two. What it really meant, however, was that the speedometer jumped from a stagnant five miles per hour to a drowsy fifteen. But as it turned out, that was much too fast, and Tony went back down to five.

“Wow, you really taught him a lesson,” Bruce said dryly.

“Shut up, Banner,” Tony said, with approximately zero malice.

Bruce, sensing that if things continued the way they were, Tony was bound to quit from frustration, so he decided to take over driving practice for the meantime and start a driving game.

“… And when I say pedestrian…” Bruce looked meaningfully at Tony.

“Crash and pay their insurance?”

“ _Tony!_ ”

“Hey, just joking!” Tony held his hands up, which was a bad call, because he was driving, and hastily returned them to the wheel. “Yeah, yeah, I put on the brakes.”

“Good,” Bruce nodded, “now, yellow light.”

Tony, accordingly, slowed down, but rolled his eyes. “Can’t we do anything more exciting?”

“Nope,” Bruce said cheerfully, “We’ll do more tomorrow. Right now we’re doing traffic lights, pedestrian warnings, and turns.”

Tony groaned, but didn’t complain further, mostly because he was concentrating on slowing down for the inevitable turn Bruce would direct him to make.

“Left turn,” Bruce said lazily, propping up his feet. Tony glanced both ways, half-heartedly put on his signal, and turned the wheel, making this the tenth left turn of the hour.

“What are we doing tomorrow?” Tony said distractedly. “Also, I think I’m getting better at turns!”

Technically, Tony had gone above ten miles an hour while making the turn, and he was inching towards a solid fifteen altogether driving, so yes, it _was_ an improvement.

“Clint and I are planning something,” Bruce said mysteriously. “But you’ll be doing lane changes and intersection practices. General city stuff. Also, you might be alone in the car for the first time!”

“What?” Tony’s eyes grew wide, possibly fearful. “I’ll be driving without you guys?”

“I thought you wanted to learn how to drive on your own?” Bruce cocked his head.

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t expect to be driving by myself on the fourth day,” Tony said anxiously, making a right turn without being prompted.

“We’ll be in other cars for the intersection practice,” Bruce pointed out. “But you can use a Stark car off of autopilot if it really makes you nervous.”

“I’ll have to tell AIDEN to only intervene in case of life or death,” Tony hummed, “but that works.” He broke into a relieved smile.

“The fourth day’s going to be your hardest in terms of training,” Bruce warned. “If you’re going to drive Peter around in May’s car, you better know exactly how.”

“Don’t remind me,” Tony shuddered. “Maybe you and Clint wanna tag along with me when I’m driving him around?”

“Any other day I’d love to, but this is Father’s Day, Tony, not Father and Honorary Uncle Figures’ Day,” Bruce said apologetically. “Speaking of Clint, he’s been pretty quiet…”

Bruce turned around and found that Tony’s driving had lulled Clint to sleep in the backseat. He sighed.

 

The fourth day found Clint and Bruce proudly showing off their work: they’d hired some confused construction workers to patch up some of the potholes, set up long cement blocks to mimic street curbs, rig up some traffic lights, and, best of all, paint the lot with yellow and white stripes to simulate city streets and crosswalks. They’d also paid the construction workers handsomely to guard the set with their lives. If news got out Tony Stark couldn’t drive, they may as well have retired from embarrassment then and there.

Altogether, they were pretty proud of their work, considering that they’d pushed the workers to have it complete in less than a day.

“Tony, you read the links I sent you on changing lanes, right?” Bruce called from the car beside him. The three were all in separate cars in their own little lanes, to Tony’s chagrin. The set had made it that each lane would eventually come back to the same intersection, while still encountering challenges such as construction, traffic circles, and DUM-E riding a skateboard, which the robot seemed to enjoy.

“Yeah, but I haven’t tried them yet,” Tony said anxiously. His feelings were mixed―though he was glad to have a city simulation, he was anxious about completing the driving challenges. And then there was the annoying fact that Clint and Bruce got to drive his classiest Stark cars, while Tony was stuck with the prototype. They had insisted that the more aggressively safe AIDEN be put with him, however, so it was _supposed_ to be for the best.

“Don’t worry about it,” Clint called from the purple car on his right. “AIDEN will make sure you stay safe, and as long as you trust your own AI, it’ll be fine.”

The light turned green, and they set off. Tony had grown more relaxed about speed with time―driving for hours on end every day tended to do that―but it was still shocking when Bruce had to constantly remind him that it was a thirty zone, and he was going twenty.

Tony, to his own surprise, drove passably even with the stress of city situations, managing to stay in his own lane nicely, change lanes three times, and even negotiate parking spots with Clint posing as another driver.

Unfortunately, Clint and Bruce decided that what Tony needed was even more stress, along the reasoning that Peter talked quite a bit, so Tony needed to keep up while still concentrating on the road. They took turns riding shotgun with Tony, who had to desperately keep conversation while taking orders from AIDEN.

“Keep left to make a left turn in a quarter mile,” AIDEN said smoothly, but was quickly drowned out by Clint loudly singing along to the radio.

“So it’s gonna be forever, or it’s gonna go down in flames,” Clint very nearly shrieked. “You can tell me when it’s over, if the high was worth the pain!”

To be honest, Tony didn’t mind Taylor Swift, especially her old music, but it was unbearable with Clint singing along to it. Clint _knew_ he had a good voice, but he was purposely going off-tune anyway, and it was truly incredible how many times Clint could harmonize horribly with one song. Maybe he should’ve started a new world record.

The copious amounts of Taylor Swift continued on for an hour until finally Tony resorted to singing along as well, albeit under his breath. Bruce, afterwards, was brought in, which Tony considered a blessing until Clint posited a plan.

Bruce shook his head. “Tony can handle stress, but I just don’t think he should be made to drive with the _Hulk,_ ” he insisted.

 

Tony drove with the Hulk.

 

The Hulk, in fact, was actually pretty patient, which shocked Clint, but not necessarily Tony. The Hulk had saved his life before, and Tony didn’t expect any freakouts from him, especially after Sakaar.

The Hulk, in fact, had turned the radio to an indie station, which Tony didn’t think he’d enjoy as much as he did, and once or twice he’d actually caught the big guy singing quietly along to the songs. Otherwise, it was a quiet ride, and at the end, the Hulk gave him a very gentle hug, and Bruce came to himself with his arms wrapped around Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left to go! Will news of Tony's driving get out?  
> Don't forget to hit the kudos and leave a comment!


	5. The Bearer of BuzzFeed News

The last day of Tony’s driving education, Father’s Day, when he was finally used to driving above twenty miles an hour, he drove in the Big Apple itself. However, he wasn’t quite at city speed, even in the stifling traffic, and so Clint made him drive in the right lane with a “student driver” sticker on, no matter how embarrassed Tony was.

As usual, the city sky was overcast and grey, sending an ominous message for the rest of Tony’s day. But that was normal for New York weather, anyway, so it was mostly disregarded.

“I never realized how rude New York drivers were,” Bruce remarked contentedly, lounging in the shotgun seat. Clint had finally given it up to him, and Bruce liked to be up front, anyway.

“You missed this?” Clint raised an eyebrow in the rearview mirror, looking skeptical.

“When you’re stuck on an alien planet, you miss a lot of things,” Bruce said wisely as the drivers honked around them. Compared to fighting Hela, New York driving was relaxing, maybe even peaceful, for him.

Or perhaps not as peaceful as he thought, because just then a van full of teenagers pulled up right behind him.

“Hey, hurry it up, grandpa!” a voice yelled, and the driver wasted no time in laying on the horn.

“Tony,” Bruce warned, but he was already rolling down the window.

“Hey, I’m trying my best here, all right, kids?” Tony snapped back.

“Whoa, is that Iron Man?” the driver peered at him, blue eyes wide in surprise.

“Yo, it totally is! Sophia, stop the car, I gotta Snap this!” yelled another, a brunette hanging out the window to get a good look at him. The van stopped next to him, which didn’t say much because the traffic was so bad, anyway. The brunette nearly shoved the phone in his face as Tony reeled back from the camera.

“Jesus Christ,” Clint groaned from the backseat. “Tony, you couldn’t have just gotten insulted and stuck with it?”

“Mr. Stark, are you a student driver?” Sophia, the driver, yelled through the window.

“Even I can drive better than that!” someone shouted from inside the van. “And I don’t even have a license!”

“Listen, stay in your lane and I’ll stay in mine, okay?” Tony barked, and rolled his window up. The light turned green, and the van, thankfully, rolled off.

He sighed and looked at Bruce. “Was that okay?”

 

Eventually, the traffic cleared up, and soon Tony was going twice as slow as everyone else was. But within an hour, the entirety of New York now knew Tony Stark drove a 2009 Chevy Traverse, and the Daily Bugle had already written an article claiming he “couldn’t drive to save his life.”

“Which is _untrue,_ ” Tony said, sulking. A news van had pulled up right next to them to verify the claim, but, thankfully, was pulled over by an NYPD car for going too slow. It was only by Tony’s fame that he wasn’t as pulled over as well, although perhaps that might have been because a robbery was going on the next block over. Tony preferred to think it was the former.

In the meantime, Clint’s oldest child was texting him every single media mention about Tony’s driving that had popped up in the last hour. And there were a _lot._

“Huh, apparently BuzzFeed’s already written an article compiling Tumblr posts about you,” Clint said, scrolling.

“Lay ‘em on me,” Tony steeled himself. Tumblr couldn’t be that hard on him, right?

“If you say so,” Clint shrugged. He cleared his throat. “‘Is Tony-fucking-Stark in a soccer mom car? Did he―’”

“I _told_ you!” Tony fumed. “It _is_ a soccer mom car.”

Clint ignored that comment and continued. “‘Did he forget he’s literally designed hundreds of cars?’”

“They’d get along with Steve, he said the same thing, remember?” Tony muttered, fixated on avoiding eye contact with someone trying to see into the car.

“Uh, there’s a bunch of bold text memes, apparently, so those are all pretty bad,” Clint hummed.

“Oh, can I see?” Bruce asked eagerly, and was handed the phone. Tony glared at him.

“You’re supporting my humiliation!”

Bruce shook his head, but didn’t have anything to say to that, and instead scrolled through the bold text memes.

“‘Don’t like my driving, welcome to New York’? What’s that supposed to mean?” Bruce peered at the screen. “Also, a very blurry picture of you driving has gone viral now.”

“It must’ve been the Snapchat kid,” Tony scowled. “Anything else?”

Bruce handed back the phone and Clint laughed. “Just a few more, I promise.”

“‘Tony Stark not driving above twenty miles per hour in New York is proof gays cannot drive,’” Clint read, trying not to laugh and failing.

Tony snorted and almost swerved out of his lane, scaring a few pedestrians and regaining control. “Yeah, fair enough.”

“Hmm, this one’s… weird,” Clint said. “Tumblr user ‘drivesbetterthantonystark’―stop laughing―says ‘I’ve been following Tony’s car for twenty minutes now, and he’s literally not made a single turn. Can he make a turn? Is he okay?’”

“Okay, that’s creepy,” Tony made a face. He rolled his window back down only to shout into the line of cars behind him. “Hey Tumblr user drivesbetterthantonystark, stop following me and change your username!”

“You _have_ to learn how to interact with New York drivers, Tones,” Bruce snickered.

“Whatever. I’m done with this, I’m picking up Pete,” Tony grumbled.

 

Tony let Clint and Bruce drive off in the Traverse after dropping him off at the apartment building, and just as he was buzzing in, Peter flew down the steps and met him.

“Hey Mr. Stark!” he said excitedly, pushing open the doors and heading out. “Ready for a classic New York hot dog?”

“Isn’t that what they say about Chicago?” Tony chuckled.

“Well―I guess,” Peter frowned. Tony followed him into the parking lot and stopped by the driver’s door of May’s car.

“Listen, kid,” Tony sighed, “you been following the news lately?”

Peter shook his head. “No, should I? I’ve been busy working at McDonald’s,” he said apologetically. Tony blinked.

“McDonald’s?”

“Aunt May thinks I need to get some customer experience,” Peter shrugged.

Well, that made things considerably easier on the humiliation part of things. Tony breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been rehearsing something to say at the point he would meet Peter, something meaningful that would give the kid an idea of the trials he’d gone through to get to this moment. But―

“Hey, Mr. Stark, you don’t mind if I drive for the day, do you? I really need the hours for my license!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday Sophia, love you!!!


End file.
